


It Isn't Her Fault

by intergalxtic



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Charles is very protective, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Assualt, a lil angsty, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalxtic/pseuds/intergalxtic
Summary: Delia and Charles are having a nice night out, away from chaos. Until, Charles leaves for a the bathroom.
Relationships: Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	It Isn't Her Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!
> 
> TW - attempted sexual assault, nothing graphic.

Charles and Delia often take the same route when it comes to going out for dinner. Same restaurants, same food, same walk in the park afterwards. It is nice, the plan they had set, but Delia thinks it can use a little switch up. 

Charles, however, is very fond of the routine. Change isn’t his strong suit. So when Delia suggests they go to a bar instead, his reaction isn’t quite what she hoped for.

“Come on! We go to the same place every time!” Delia says with a pout. She is slumped against the bed frame, her red hair cascading past her shoulders. “Old ways won’t open new doors!”

“What?” Charles considers, biting his lip. "I… suppose it wouldn’t hurt,"

“Yes! I know just the place to go.” Delia exclaims excitedly, jumping out of the bed. “Let’s be ready by seven-thirty, I’ll let Adam and Barbs know!”

Charles grins at Delia’s enthusiasm as she runs out of the room. The door to their room remains open, Delia’s voice echoing from the attic. He isn’t disappointed that they are going somewhere else, in fact after some thought, it’s good to have something different. Dates are the only time they can catch each other alone at the moment, with everything going on. Delia’s online courses and work, Charles recently got a promotion, and Beetlejuice has also returned on top of everything. So some alone time is always something they look forward to.

Delia rummages through her closet. The place she has in mind isn’t terribly fancy, but dressing tidily is a part of the fun, right? She opts for a lavender wrap-dress that hangs just above her knees. The neckline plunges, but not too deep, leaving the perfect space for a necklace. She ties the string in a bow at the back, and pulls on her black pumps, almost ready to go. 

She peers over her jewellery box, her eyes narrowing in on her rose quartz necklace. She clasps it on, admiring her looks in the mirror. Charles is going to love it. Speaking of, Delia turns her head, and there he stands. His smug grin pulls her towards him like gravity. He holds tightly onto her waist, looking into her loving, brown eyes. 

“I don't have time to kiss you senseless right now, but I promise…” Charles murmurs into her ear, making her giggle. She teasingly pecks him on the lips, then moves her hands to take his, and leads him down the stairs. 

“Our cab is waiting…” Delia says softly, opening the front door. “We’re leaving! Goodbye!”

The two walk out the door, hand in hand, and off they go to the bar.

As chilly as the air is, the atmosphere inside the bar is far from cold. Laughter fills the room, bustling with people. Every now and again, they hear cheering or glass clinking. They sat on the barstools, ordering the odd drink now and then. Soon enough, they are in their own little bubble, forgetting everyone else exists. 

Delia rests her elbows on the smooth wooden surface, her chin digging into her knuckles. This particular part of their conversation has died down, and she is ready for another drink. As she’s about to order, Charles speaks up.

“I need to use the restroom.” He whispers to her, and she smiles lazily at him, clearly a little tipsy. 

“You do that. I’ll keep your seat.” Delia winks, kissing him as he walks away. Almost as soon as he turned the corner, another man sneaks up behind her. 

She whips around, almost falling off the seat. The man is uncomfortably close, just centimetres away from her. At first, Delia shrugs it off, thinking he tripped trying to get past. But when he doesn’t step back, she realises what’s going on, and is immediately lost for words.

“I’ve been watching you from across the room,” He says, his hot breath on her shoulder. Delia shudders as he twirls with the silky material of her dress.

“That’s not very gentleman-like, is it?” She sasses back at him, hoping it will ward him away.

“Oh, you’re all about chivalry, are you?” He just comes closer, his hands creeping awfully close to her hips. “I’ll let you out the door first when we leave.”

“No! Stop-,” Delia gasps as his hand moves lower. Although her confidence is slowly falling, she attempts to keep up the act.  _ Just fight him off! Ugh, Delia, what has gotten into you! Just do something!  _ The man smelled like beer and vomit, his hair greasy and slicked back. “My husband is coming back any second,”

“He doesn’t have to know.” 

Liquid creeps up Delia’s throat, and it’s not the booze. How is no-one seeing this? The fear in the back of her mind gradually makes it’s way forward, tears shoving their way into her eyes. She forces her eyes shut, and maybe he will leave. Maybe Charles will show up. Maybe…

“Hey! What are you doing?” Charles shouts, making the man jump away. Delia flinches initially, her heart leaping out of her chest.

“I was… I was…” The man stammers, giving no explanation. 

“Well?” Charles stares him down, his face turning deep red. He glances at Delia, who is counting her breathing. She does that only when she is anxious or scared. “What were you doing with my  _ wife _ ?”

“She’s… your wife?” The man hesitates, stepping back another step. 

“Yes. Now I suggest you leave before I call the police.” Charles scolds, and the man scurries away like a scared squirrel. 

“Thank you Charles,” Delia’s voice goes quiet, beckoning him to sit next to her again. 

“I’m sorry I took so long, there was a line…” He trails off, not knowing what to say. Delia shakes her head, forcing a smile onto her face. 

“I’m fine, Charles. Lets just go home.” Delia grips onto his hand tightly, and he places the money onto the bar. They stay bizarrely quiet, but Charles doesn’t want to pressure her further into a conversation. 

Later in the night, they are sitting on the couch, still not speaking of what happened. Quite frankly, Delia doesn’t want to, but for Charles, the silence is deafening. He tells himself over and over that it was probably nothing, and Delia could have dealt with it on her own. But the little voice in his head says to check on her, because Delia has never been quiet for so long.

“We need to talk about what happened.” Charles proposes, and is met with Delia springing off the couch.

“Charles, I’m okay. I already said that!” Delia reassures him, like he was a child. But he sees right through her. Observing the look on his face, Delia quickly takes another route. “It was nothing, I just shouldn’t have worn this dress.”

“Would you say that if Lydia came home and what happened to you happened to her?” Charles stands up, stopping Delia dead in her tracks. 

“What? I…” Delia stumbles over her words. “I would say it isn’t her fault, and whoever did it is a bastard who doesn’t know how to control themselves.”

“Then why don’t you say the same for yourself?” Charles holds his breath, waiting for her to say something. When she doesn’t, he speaks up again. “Delia, you were assaulted.”

A wave of realisation washes over her, as it finally hits her. Then, like a punch in the stomach, guilt. Disgust. Filth. She rubs her forehead with her hand, the other placed on her hip. She wants to open her mouth to say something, but she can’t even open her mouth. 

Her head is swimming with incoherent thoughts. The room spins around her, but she remains still.  _ Why did I let this happen to me? Why am I reacting like this?  _

“Delia,” Charles tilts his head in concern for his wife. He wraps his arms around her shaking body, but she pulls away. 

The lack of contact makes Charles uneasy. He wants to hold Delia in his arms so tightly that all of her broken pieces would fit back together. He wants to hold her so tight that they share their body heat. He wants to whisper in her ear that it will be okay.

“Charles, I’m going to go to bed.” Delia finds it in her to look at him, her eyes scared but her mouth curled into a tight smile. She slowly heads up the stairs, her mind buzzing with confliction.

Because Charles isn’t the only one who wants contact. She desperately needs him next to her, his arms around her. She wants to kiss him and tell him she’s fine, even when she’s not. 

All her life she was told to put up with it. _ Make your dress shorter, you look like a prude. Make it longer, you look like a slut. Men can’t control themselves. Suck it up. You should take it as a compliment. Why didn’t you tell him to stop? Why did you tell him to stop?  _

She never really cared for any of it, largely ignoring it for most of her life. She knows it’s not true. Delia tries thinking it is because she looks desirable, except no matter how hard she tries, she knows deep down it is because he is a twat and no more. It isn’t her fault and never will be. 

She lays restlessly on the bed, her eyes gently shut, when Charles hops in next to her. He leaves a light kiss on her temple, and she relaxes a little, enough to put her into a light sleep.

Even though it may be hard, she will move forward. She will persevere. She will be okay, because she has been broken and has recovered many times before. She just needs some time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> This is a little different to what I normally write, so let me know if you like more angsty ones!  
> If you want you can leave a request here or on my tumblr (same username)
> 
> :)))))


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